


Being with You

by mcgarrygirl78



Series: Something Old, Something New [5]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drama, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t fantasize about your mother I swear to God.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being with You

“Wow.” Stephen smiled.

“What?” Emily looked at him before having another sampling of Peking duck.

“Your metabolism is amazing. I'm envious.”

“Well it’s the one thing my mother gave me that I don’t have to hide, be angry about or ashamed of.”

“Not true.”

“Yeah? You know of something else?” Emily popped a lobster dumpling in her mouth, taking it down with beer.

“Are you kidding? Where do you think you got those beautiful almond shaped eyes, that raven hair, that fierce badass attitude, and those hips…”

“Whoa, whoa, do not talk about my mother’s hips. What the hell do you know about my mother’s hips?”

“She wears dresses all the time, which is a good plan. One thing Elizabeth knows, something else she passed down to her daughter, is how to enhance her assets. She is the perfector of look but don’t touch.”

“How much were you looking Stephen? Please don’t make me lose my appetite; I've been looking forward to tonight all damn week.”

Tonight they were in City Lights of China on Connecticut Avenue. Stephen wanted to go out on a date and Emily thought it was a good idea as well. She still couldn’t say, despite things that had been said and done in the recent past, that this was a relationship. They were just feeling their way around what could be shark-infested waters or landmine-filled meadows. 

At least they were going to enjoy some amazing food while doing it. If there was one thing Emily Prentiss loved more than anything, it was food. Damn shame she could barely cook to save her life. But that might have been a good thing because she was very fond of good restaurants.

“I only looked to compare.” Stephen replied. 

He was enjoying a plate of seafood chow foon. Emily wanted to sample everything; there were many plates on the table. Chicken wings, duck, dumplings, brown rice with beef and lobster, vegetarian lettuce wraps, and spring rolls. She smiled after she ordered, explaining it was important to have every food group in each meal. Stephen just wanted to know where it all went.

“Compare what?”

“One can't deny how much alike you two look.”

“I wasn’t trying to. And you're not answering my question.”

“I don’t fantasize about your mother I swear to God.”

“You better not, Stephen Thorne.” Emily pointed a chopstick at him. “Because I will have you know that I have 5290 reasons to be in therapy and I do not want reason #5291 to be because my boyfriend has sexual fantasies about my mother.”

“You'd have to admit though that that’s a damn good reason.” He said.

“It’s probably better than some of the other ones I have. I still don’t want it.”

“It’s off the table.” Stephen shook his head and tried not to laugh. “I have to know where the hell all of this food is going to go.”

“In my belly.” Emily replied doing a crappy Fat Bastard impression and then laughing.

“I think I got that part. I just mean, how?”

“I love to eat. I'm lucky to have her metabolism. Anyway, whatever that doesn’t burn off, I do plan on sweating later.”

“So you are going to take me on a run?” he raised an eyebrow as he sipped his unsweetened ice tea.

“You're in perfect shape.” Emily replied. “Anyway, my plus one at the gym…it’s not all its cracked up to be.”

“Let me know if you need help sweating, Agent Prentiss.”

“You'll be the first.”

“It’s better than being the last.” Stephen said.

“Mmm, not all the time.”

He smiled and they ate in companionable silence for a while. Emily seemed to be enjoying herself and Stephen was glad. He’d actually been waiting all week for her to call and cancel. He didn’t know if it would be work or something else but he was surely waiting for the other shoe to drop. For nearly 20 years he couldn’t have her…what would make now so different. 

He thought she might be tired of running but who’s to say she wanted to settle in his arms. Emily Prentiss could have any man she wanted. There were many who tried to fill up her dance card. Stephen used to watch them try to seduce her with wit, charm, money, alcohol, whatever they could get their hands on. She hated that game, though there were times when she got a kick out of playing it. 

He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking that he was her best lover, her favorite, or even the one she wanted the most. But he was here now and they might be able to make a go of it. Stephen knew he would never forgive himself if he didn’t try. He loved her, he had from nearly the first moment he saw her. It was such a fuckin cliché but sometimes life was.

“You're thinking too hard, I can tell.” Emily said.

“I'm just glad you didn’t get called out of town at the last minute. How do you do it?”

“It’s called a go bag…it’s always in my car.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s my job. You did it for a few decades.”

“I took my fair share of leaves. I would go someplace, be free, not have the weight of the free world on my shoulders.” Stephen said.

“You're forgetting that I spent seven months away.” she replied.

“You were trapped in Paris worried that a madman was coming after the people you loved. I don’t call that much of a vacation.”

“How did we go from talking about my mother’s hips to this?”

“You don’t talk about your time away.”

“It was boring as all hell. Oh my God, these chicken wings are delicious, seriously.”

“I don’t want to push…” Stephen sighed.

“That’s usually what someone says right before they push.”

“I just…I'm worried about you.”

“I'm fine.” Emily meant that today. 

And she didn’t want to ruin something she’d been looking forward to all week with more talk of her fragility. She wasn’t a fuckin china doll. She could handle it. Yes, sometimes she needed to take a breather and sure some days were harder than others. But she wasn’t going to fall apart dammit. 

Emily earned her tough skin the hard way, by getting her proverbial ass kicked. She was a survivor. She’d done it before and would surely do it again. Though she did hope the days of damn near dying were behind her. Emily hoped a lot of things were behind her.

“I believe you. I don't want to know what happened so that you can relive some horrible moments in your life, Emily. I want to know because sometimes I can't sleep thinking about it. I know someone hurt you and it fuckin kills me. And here I am, making it all about me me me. 

“That’s what you’ve been doing since you came back. That’s what you’ve been doing a lot of your life. You take care of everyone else and you suffer in silence. So just know whatever you want to talk about, good, bad, funny, or horrific, I want to be there for you. I just want…” he smiled, seeming at a loss for words.

Emily smiled as she reached across the table for his hand. She seemed to be a bit speechless as well. She always said she didn’t need anyone to take care of her and that was the truth. She didn’t need to be protected, coddled, and carried. But knowing that there was someone there, who would drop everything to do that if she simply asked…it was a nice feeling. 

She did take care of everyone else and to this day had no idea where that instinct came from. But she felt it was more of a strength than a weakness. It could be a taxing strength but when everyone was safe and happy, so was Emily. Or maybe that’s just what she told herself so she wouldn’t still feel like the loneliest girl in the room. 

Who knew for sure but she wasn’t going to spend the next decade in therapy finding out. There was no such thing as true happiness. But there was contentment and joy and moments of absolute bliss. Give her a few of those, all in a row, and life was good. The rest was the rest.

“I'm such a lucky woman.” she said, pulling his hand closer to her and then kissing it. “When the shit hits the fan that’s what I remember. Maybe one day I will spill it, maybe I’ll be compelled. But you have to understand that I might never.”

“I do.” Stephen nodded. “Just know I'm a safe haven.”

“You're more than that. My therapist is a safe haven. My cat is a safe haven. You're more than that, Stephen.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now let me eat all of this delicious food in peace, will ya?” she picked up a spring roll with her chopsticks. “You have to try this…they're amazing.”

Stephen smiled, opening up and indulging her. He would indulge her all the way to the end of the earth if that’s what she wanted. 

“That is amazing.” He said.

“I told you. Sample the duck too; it’s fantastic. Don’t worry about the calories; I promise we’ll work it all off later on. Just enjoy yourself. Let go and just enjoy it.”

***

“You can't compare _Stalag 17_ and _The Apartment_.” Emily said.

“Why not? They were written and directed by the same man.”

“True, that is indeed true, but Billy Wilder of the 1960s was different than Billy Wilder of the 1950s. It’s sardonic versus screwball and you just can't compare. Also, and they’re both highly talented and amazing actors but comparing Jack Lemmon and William Holden is like comparing Shiraz and Moscato. And I know that makes me sound snobby but so be. I love Jack Lemmon.”

“He has two Oscars.” Stephen said. “One is for _Save the Tiger_ , which is one of the most amazing movie roles ever.”

“Oh c'mon, that’s your comparison. Paul Newman won for the _Color of Money_ , five years after _The Verdict_.”

“Dammit, you pulled the Newman card. That’s not fair. Nothing is able to stand up to the Newman card.”

“And need I remind you that Alfred Hitchcock, Myrna Loy, and Glenn Close just to name a few ridiculously talented people have never won Academy Awards. Oh, and Richard Burton. Yes, Richard Burton makes all Academy Award chatter completely obsolete.”

“Most people would say that’s Scorsese.” 

“People answer Scorsese for a lot of things.” Emily replied. “It’s Richard Burton.”

“But we can agree that Wilder is one of the best writers and directors to breathe air, right?” Stephen said.

“Duh,” She looked at him and smiled.

They were walking, not going anywhere in particular and that suited them both fine. Dinner was amazing, and so was dessert. Then they just left the restaurant and started walking. It was probably good to get a start on burning off tonight’s meal. Emily loved taking walks in DC, there were few cities better. 

There was New York of course, Toronto, Paris, and surprising to most Odessa, Ukraine. She lived in so many damn places in her life, it was a little ridiculous. DC was one of her favorites. There were so many neighborhoods, accents, languages, places to eat; it was heaven. There was less congestion than New York and it was a more pleasant experience for her. Emily loved the tree-lined streets and the hustle of everyone needing to be someplace to do something. 

She loved the dive bars and the gentleman’s clubs where everything was cherry oak and important men smoked cigars. She loved the private school uniforms and the chatter of teenagers who wanted to be anywhere else but where she wanted to be the most. She loved the view of the Washington Monument, the ripples of the Potomac, and the Lincoln Memorial in a snowstorm. She was never leaving again, at least not for long periods of time. Emily Prentiss had traveled all over the world, more than twice, but this was home.

“Warm winters are weird.” Stephen said, bringing Emily out of her thoughts.

“I have to agree. I miss snow and having an excuse to turn on the fireplace. I miss extra blankets and fuzzy slipper socks. I just miss seasons. All we seem to get here anymore is rain and humidity. The few cold days, I've really loved them. I hope we get a few more before springtime.”

“I thought you loved rain.”

“I do, I just love other kinds of weather too. It’s depressing when it’s two or three days in a row.”

“What do you do when you're feeling that way?”

“It usually requires junk food and singing.” Emily replied. “What about you?”

“I don't know. I work it off.”

“Now we’re talking…” she smiled.

“I mean work, work. I just bury myself in something else. I know that’s not the best thing but I do that.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way sometimes.”

“Everyone feels that way sometimes.” Stephen said. “I'm feeling pretty good right now though. How about you?”

“I'm definitely on an upswing. I want some ice cream.”

“You had ice cream.”

“Well I want some more. I have some back at my place. So we’ll go there and have some?”

“If you want then I want.”

“And after I get my sweets, you can have yours.” She turned to kiss his cheek.

“Is that a euphemism for sex?” Stephen asked. “I'm old school, just say it.”

“OK, after I eat some ice cream, I'm fucking you.”

“You are…” he grinned, shaking his head. His body was already reacting and Stephen took a deep breath in through his nose and out of his mouth.

“You said to just say it.”

“I didn’t mean…you know what, that’s my fault.”

“Yes,” Emily nodded. “It is.”

“C'mon, let’s get some more ice cream in you.”

“If you like it, I love it.”

“Oh Emily Prentiss, I love it too.”

She laughed, putting her arm around him as they walked over to the curb and hailed a cab. When he pulled her closer and Emily inhaled the faint scent of his cologne, she felt warm on the inside. Tonight had been awesome and there was even more to come.

***

“Oh God, Stephen. Oh God, oh God, ohhh...”

Emily gripped his back as Stephen sealed the deal. Missionary sex was never her favorite and most of her lovers knew that. But the truth was that doggy style and missionary were the easiest ways for men to come. So she did her thing, twice, on top and then let him have the moment. 

Stephen was still one of her favorite missionary men. He knew where to touch, what to kiss, when to be gentle, and when to make her cry out in that pleasurable pain. He just knew sex and there wasn’t one time Emily was ever left wanting. Tonight was no different.

“I love you.” he mumbled as he felt himself falling. “Oh God, Emily, I love you. Oh Dulcinea.”

She shivered, whimpering when she heard the name. It had been so long sometimes she was sure that was a dream. He called her that for two weeks in Spain a long, long time ago. It was the one time she took him up on running away together. 

She hadn't been to Alicante in forever and there were such good memories there. He called her that one night, whispered it in her ear as they danced barefoot on the balcony to Rosemary Clooney records. Emily would never forget how it made her feel then or now.

As she held him close after he climaxed, Emily rubbed Stephen’s back. She kissed the side of his face and whispered for him to say it again. She wanted to hear it; wanted to feel the shiver of desire go through her bloodstream. Stephen sat up some and took her face into his hands.

“Dulcinea; my beautiful Dulcinea.”

“Quixote doesn’t get the girl.” She said.

“I'm a little luckier than Quixote. But um, just because we’re here tonight doesn’t mean…”

Smiling a little, Stephen moved onto the bed. He took a deep breath and exhaled as Emily lay in his arms.

“We’re in this.” She said.

“OK, now I'm going to ask you to repeat that.” he replied.

“We’re in this, Stephen. I don’t want to put titles and labels and bullshit on anything but I'm here and you're here and…”

“We’re in this.” Stephen repeated.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else. I'm not seeing anyone else and I'm happy with you. I know I've hurt you before but…”

“Don’t.” he put his finger on her lips. “I'm a big boy and we’ve both made choices and mistakes. We weren't ready then and perhaps we are now.”

“I'm ready to be happy.” Emily said. “I'm happy in many aspects of my life but when we’re together I'm like drunk on a bottle of wine happy.”

“That’s a fleeting feeling, isn’t it?”

“Why does it have to be?” she countered. “We shouldn’t have such serious conversation after making love.”

“What should we do?”

“It’s not that late.”

“What would you do if I wasn’t here?” Stephen asked.

Emily laughed, turning over on her back. She was still close and Stephen had his arm around her.

“You're gonna think I'm a dork.”

“So what? You don’t care about that. Tell me.”

“OK.” She laughed again. “I play a lot of Angry Birds. I go to C-Span’s Archive Website and watch old Tony Snow press briefings; I had the biggest crush on him. I read books on my Kindle. I sometimes play sock ninja with George when he feels like being bothered with me. I get a glass of wine and dance around in my underwear to Laura Branigan songs. Sometimes I just get a cup of tea, a clove, and call Nat to talk.”

“I love Angry Birds.”

“Shut up,” she turned in his arms. “You do?”

“Yes. We can play together sometime if you’d like.”

“Prepare to go down. I got some angry ass birds; I'm serious.”

Stephen laughed, kissing her. He did it again and then hugged her.

“Tea sounds good.” He said. “I think tea and something on television…we’ll just relax.”

“We don’t have to put on a lot of clothes to do that do we?”

“I actually insist that we do not.”

“Well, if you're insisting Mr. Thorne.”

Emily smiled, kissing him again. She’d said it. It wasn’t much…we’re in this. But it conveyed, simply, all she was feeling at the moment. And those feelings were complicated and strange. With him she didn’t feel strange though. 

She felt good, content, loved; it was wonderful. Changes were coming, she could feel it. Emily would need someone to keep her balanced as she considered jumping off a cliff. Butch needed Sundance, Thelma needed Louise, and Starsky needed Hutch. 

She had Stephen; he would be there with her. A road trip was always more fun when someone was in the passenger seat. They could help you drive and get to the destination sooner. While Emily wasn’t sure where she was going she knew her companion was up for just as much adventure.

***


End file.
